


all you have is your fire

by rwbyfics



Category: RWBY
Genre: Eye Trauma, F/F, Mention of Minor Character Death, Mention of Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rwbyfics/pseuds/rwbyfics
Summary: A gift for Ivory! Volume 4 spoilers, so avoid if you haven't watched the first episode.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CourierNinetyTwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/gifts).



As if being demoted to a lap dog wasn’t insult enough, Salem’s assistant for the time being happens to be Neo. While hours are lost in Salem’s castle with Cinder strapped to a bed, forced to lie still as Salem splices Dust with the raw, scorched skin of her eyelid, Neo edges along her periphery, flitting here and there like a shadow larger than life.

“Regeneration is a tricky business,” Salem murmurs to Cinder during one session, mouth nearly touching her brow as needle and thread map an even, steady path above the crease of her eyelid. “You could go to bed hoping for another leg and wake up with the rest of it rotting to the bone.” 

Cinder grits her teeth, urging her will to remain firm, even though every part of her wants to burn the straps holding her down into ashes, scorch the edges of Salem’s fine robe with her Semblance. 

 _Better to try and fail than do nothing at all_ , she tries to croak out, but her voice warps and breaks halfway through the sentence. Neo, however, yips out a strange sound, almost like laughter, like she had heard Cinder. She couldn’t have, not when her voice was barely above a rasp. Salem pays no mind, and continues to seal the wound.

It  _hurts_. It hurts worse than anything she’s had to endure before, even more than when her step-sisters had stuck needles in her side like she was a pincushion and laughed when she bled on the floors. It hurts more than having to clean it up after. It hurts more than getting the damn eye ripped out to begin with, more than having to swallow her pride every time she wants to speak and finds nothing but a whimper. 

A sound of frustration slips from between her lips and Salem soothes a hand through her dark hair, shorn short now.

“Patience, Cinder. Good things come to those who wait.”

She licks her lips and nods.

The final stitch is laid in, and Salem knots the thread with an expert hand. Neo’s there in an instant, with a pair of scissors sharp enough that Cinder can taste the blade at the back of her throat. Salem takes them without looking, and uses them so close to Cinder’s eyelid that she can feel the silver knot along the side pressed against her face. 

Neo takes the scissors and needles, and places them in a small bag, to be tossed with the rest of the garbage in the morning. Salem looks pleased with her handiwork for a brief moment, looming like a marked moon above Cinder. 

Then, she’s gone, fingers cold but faint against the knot of limp wrists as she unties Cinder from the bed. It’s like a weight has been lifted when she sits up, slow and steady so as to not wind herself.

Salem reaches forward to straighten her dress along her shoulders with a maternal hand, brushing hair away from her scarred face. She knows the mark is ugly, and almost tries to bow her head before Salem tilts her chin upwards and presses a formal kiss to her right cheekbone. 

“Until tomorrow, Cinder.” She makes towards the door, skirts sweeping around her feet until she comes to a stop. “Neo, see that she’s taken care of.” Salem faces Cinder for the last time – over her shoulder, Cinder thinks that Neo mouths  _teacher’s pet_  at her – and Salem leaves. A strange, quiet absence follows after. Neo stays on the far side of the room, tidying up containers of Dust and small jars of antiseptic salve and numbing paste. 

Cinder watches those fingers, long and gloved, straighten bottles until they’re all aligned at the perfect angle. She longs to speak, hear her voice as it once was, full and throaty. She wants to say Neo’s name like it was meant to be said, savored in a rich, supple mouth. Like a command. 

Instead, she coughs around a dry patch in her mouth. 

Neo turns her head. 

Cinder touches her hand to her lips and coughs again. The sound is scratchy and hollow, as grating to the ear as filed nails against a chalkboard. The smaller woman walks over, ghostly eyes flashing in the half-light. Cinder pulls her hand away. 

There’s a small spot of blood on her fingertips. 

Neo steps in front of her; even in heels, she has to tilt her face up to look into golden eyes. Cinder looks down, breath catching ever so slightly in her throat as sable gloves cup her hand in two palms, begin to trace up and down the side of her waist. Slowly, they make their way up to her jaw. 

Her throat throbs red with pain, and when Neo yanks a little to bring them eye to eye, every nerve ending along the nape of her neck screams in protest. A leather-clad thumb traces beneath her left eye, digging too tight into abraded skin. 

“Look at your face… ” Neo whispers, and her voice scrapes along Cinder’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It’s odd to hear her speak, especially when her strange accent curls around every word like she never wants to let it go. “Roman used to tell me that you’d fuck people into submission.” She laughs under her breath. “Who’s going to fuck you with a face like that, Cinder?” 

The first slap hurts Cinder’s palm, almost as much as she imagines it hurts for Neo. 

She can see the flush rising to pale skin, and savors the way Neo draws in a deep breath. 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” Cinder whispers. The words burn on their way out, and she feels dangerous for the first time in a while. “Or I’ll finish the job and cut out the rest of your tongue myself.” 

Neo licks her lips – the tip of it is gone and slightly lopsided, but it is indeed there. 

“You got him killed,” Neo says, head bowed. 

“His stupidity got him killed,” Cinder strains. There’s a pause. “And you’re lonely.” 

Neo looks up, and her eyes are rosy, gleaming with dangerous light.

Cinder fists her hand in brown hair, pulling hard so that Neo’s teetering on the tip toes of her heeled boots, breathing fast. She tilts her head, peering down at the girl before her, until Neo closes the distance between them and kisses her, greedy and violent. It tastes of blood, and starts to hurt after a while, but Neo chases her for more, steals one after another until her thirst is sated. 

When Cinder pulls away, panting fast, Neo wipes her hand on the back of her gloves, leaving a wet streak up the leather. A mark of red blooms defiantly on her right cheek, mirroring the scar streaking up the left half of Cinder’s face. Neo presses close, but this time, takes Cinder’s face in her hand, forcing her to bare the swollen, stitched place that aches, fervid and insistent. Neo brushes her lips against the black thread, forcing Cinder still while she shakes, shoulders drawing in on themselves. Her knee brushes against the crux of Cinder’s thighs for a split second, and the older woman tenses. 

Neo sighs, and the moment shimmers white gold with possibility. Tentatively, Cinder lets herself be pushed back onto the bed, as slender fingertips crept up and down the hem of her crimson dress. She thanks the gods that her voice is gone now, for the first time since she’s lost it, and allows a shroud of rose-colored hair to fall over her face.


End file.
